Page 57 of Vicious Arrangement
As he does, he talks.
“The thing with Noah is he had a difficult childhood.”
I sit up. “Like how?”
“That’s his story, not mine, but it was… extremely difficult. While that doesn’t excuse his behavior—I’m a firm believer in it’s both nature and nurture and the makeup of the person that creates the person to be, but yes, it was difficult.”
He wipes his hands on a tea towel and hangs it up. He motions to the living room, and I take my wine and head in there with him. “It doesn’t excuse behavior, Aria, but it may help explain it.”
“How?” I settle into my favorite overstuffed armchair, the one I’ve loved ever since I can remember.
Gramps sits on the sofa and rests his wine glass on his knee. Then he takes a sip. “I just think there may be more to Noah than he lets people see. A lot more. Real depth.”
Maybe, but I’m not so sure. I think he might want that, but I don’t know if it’s there. He’s just so… self-made into what he is.
I don’t say it, though, because, damn. Gramps is definitely a closet romantic.
When we leave,Angus and I walk through Central Park and then down through Manhattan to SoHo, so I can let the lunch settle.
At the apartment, it’s empty, it feels lifeless so I let Angus onto the terrace, put the food Gramps sent me home with in the fridge and run upstairs to change into leggings and a large T-shirt.
I secure a running bag on me, and slide my keys and phone in there, and pop in my earbuds, and then I collect Angus, and wehalf-jog to the Hudson River Greenway so Angus and I can get in a good run.
It’s such a nice early evening that I decide to walk back through Greenwich Village when someone calls my name.
I turn and spy a familiar face. “Asher!”
He jogs over and gives me an awkward hug, then steps back, staring down at Angus, who looks up, head tilted. “My god. He is a small Sasquatch.”
I narrow my eyes. “Noah?”
“Noah.” But Asher goes down on one knee and offers his hand to Angus to sniff, and he gets a giant lick. Asher grins and rubs the dog’s head. “You’re not Sasquatch. You’re SuperDog.”
Angus barks.
I smile. I want to be annoyed at Noah, but Asher’s so nice I can’t be. “He likes you.”
“Of course. I’m way cooler than Noah. You on your way home?”
I sigh. “Slowly, just… killing time.”
“You can kill time with me. You want a coffee? Wine? Beer? One of those bubble tea things?”
“Coffee would be great.”
“Excellent.” He rubs his hands together. “I know a good café where they allow dogs. Outside.”
The brief walk to the café is fun, Angus is always up for adventure, and to him new places, new people and hopefullynew things to eat are all adventure. When we get there, we sit, and Angus gets his own bowl of water and some treats.
I groan. “This dog’s gonna be round.”
“Aren’t they meant to be?”
“Not according to his vet.”
We talk about this and that, the news, and the latest crazy memes, and we swap war stories, mine hospital based, his IT based, just silly fun stuff, and when the coffees come, he says, “How are things going with Noah, anyway?”
I force a laugh. “They’re not.”
